


Tell Him How You Feel

by EasyTiga



Series: A Whole Lotta Fucking [16]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Dean, Alpha Sam, Alpha/Alpha, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Biting, Blood and Violence, Bottom Sam, Come Inflation, Coming Untouched, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fighitng, Hate Sex, Horny Dean, Horny Sam, Jealous Dean Winchester, Knotting, M/M, Manhandling, Marking, Mating Rituals, Porn with Feelings, Possessive Dean Winchester, Riding, Rough Sex, Swearing, Top Dean, Top Dean Winchester/Bottom Sam Winchester, Unrelated Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Wincest - Freeform, couples retreat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:01:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25595446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EasyTiga/pseuds/EasyTiga
Summary: The Alpha's Sam Wesson and Dean Smith have hated each other from the moment they met. They can't seem to stop themselves from getting physical whenever they're in the same room. When a promotion sets Dean off in a bad way and they end up trashing the office during their altercation, the managing director sends them to a Couples retreat to work out their differences. Truths are revealed, things progress, tempers flare, tensions rise and the boys discover something along the way.
Relationships: Dean Smith/Sam Wesson, Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Series: A Whole Lotta Fucking [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/352190
Comments: 29
Kudos: 264





	Tell Him How You Feel

**Author's Note:**

> Like always, this wasn't supposed to be this long. But here we are. :D

Sam’s nostrils flare, cedarwood, whisky and gun oil crawling up his nose from both sides, making him twitch irritably. The smell brings with it memories of irrational anger, tight grips, hard hits, back-breaking bends that an Alpha his size shouldn’t be able to do, shouldn’t want, but does anyway. It brings with it the taste of blood in his mouth, bold and unrelenting as he bites and gnaws at his lips, keeping in the sounds—can’t let on that he’s enjoying it, that he wants him to push deeper or tie them.

His ass aches. Not from the chair he’s sitting on. From sense memory of a fat knot stretching him wide open. Something his body shouldn’t be able to take, but does. And he doesn’t know why he lets it happen. Every. Time. But he does, and his body sings with it, anger at its peak but he’s still coming anyway, his orgasm taken out of him, demeaning words growled into his ear as he does, reminded of his position.

Sam just takes it. He takes it all because he doesn’t know how to say no to it now. He doesn’t know how it happened, how it got to that point, how he went from recoiling at him being less than a meter away to rejoicing when their bodies are in sync, walls of flesh and muscle forcing him up against walls, on his back, on his knees, using him, treating him like he’s nothing but a couple of good holes to sink a fat knot into.

He’s an Alpha. Not supposed to want another Alpha. And he normally doesn’t. He normally turns his nose up at the thought of being with another Alpha. But not this one. Never this one. Never the one that lets him _have_ it whenever they're together, the one that pushes all of his buttons, that fills him full to bursting with rage and lust, both fighting with each other—a war transpiring in his mind each time those hands are on him, in him, bending and twisting him, teeth tearing through his flesh, claws stabbing into him, coming back coated with thin sheens of blood that fall like tears until they drop and smear the dirty carpet.

When he’s the one in demand with a beta or omega writhing under him, it’s not the same. It’s never the same as those strong, _powerful_ hands bending him to their will, breaking windows, tables crashing to the ground, walls cracking from fists pummeling them. It’s not the same as a hand sealed tight around his throat, the fingers digging into the back of his neck using their perch as leverage to yank Sam back onto each thrust, until he’s crying—begging, _screaming_ for something, anything, something to cling onto, something to hope for.

He doesn’t know what that hope is. That Dean will let him finish? That he won’t leave him broken, disgusted with himself and questioning his entire existence? There’s not much that Sam can say about it really. All he knows is that he goes back there. Whenever Dean wants, whenever he eggs him on enough to go along with it. He’s not sure how much of a fight he actually puts up anymore, but he does. He does because he has to or it’ll feel like giving in.

A hand slams down on the table, shaking the once sturdy structure, the legs protesting the pressure. Sam follows the line of the arm up to sharp penetrating green eyes that look royally pissed with him. More so than usual.

Ignoring the motherload of arousal crashing into him from the gaze alone, Sam narrows his eyes in challenge.

“What, Dean? Can’t you see I’m eating?”

Dean doesn’t move his hand. The table keeps shaking.

“What the hell do ya’ think you’re doin’, Sam?” Dean questions, jaw set. “Do you know _how long_ I’ve been bustin’ my ass for that promotion?”

“Clearly not long enough. Or hard enough,” Sam replies, sneering. “What does it matter anyway? Why should I even care?” He levels him with a cold stare. “I’ll be out of your hair. Isn’t that what you want? What we _both_ want? Stop looking a gift horse in the mouth, asshat.”

This doesn’t seem to have a positive effect on the other Alpha. In fact, it must have the opposite one because a second later the legs have given up the fight and the table breaks apart under the weight of his hand. Unfortunately, it doesn't knock Dean off balance.

“You don’t even _like_ New Hampshire. Why _the fuck_ would you wanna move there?” Dean demands, dismissing the smashed plate near his feet as he steps over it and hoists Sam out of his chair. “Did you do this just to fuck with me, huh? It’s not bad enough that you took over half of my cases. No, you had to go and steal my dream job at the _same_ time? Real nice, Sammy. _Real_ nice.”

“You’re missing the point,” Sam says calmly, when he’s anything but. “I’ll be leaving. You won’t have to deal with me anymore. I won’t have to deal with you anymore, so it’s a win-win, dude.”

Sam’s back hits the wall so fast he’s surprised he didn’t burst through it, his head snapping back from the force. He smells blood at the back of his head, the slight burn of his flesh repairing itself at such a staggering rate makes his head rush.

Dean’s fist burrows halfway into the wall by the side of his head, his other hand snagging the collar of Sam’s shirt.

“ _I_ wanted that job, you sunovabitch,” Dean spits, growling angrily.

Getting his bearings back takes a second. Once he has them, Sam grits his teeth and kicks Dean away from him, momentarily satisfied to see Dean laid out on his back, the floor a firm presence beneath him.

“Then you should have tried harder. Don’t blame me for your poor effort or putting time and commitment into getting shit done while you dried out your liver and fucked anything with a pulse.”

Dean narrows his eyes to fine slits, gets back up off the ground and cricks his neck to one side, rolling his neck and shoulders as he starts a light pass from foot to foot.

“You and me, right here, right the fuck now,” Dean declares, loosening the knot in his tie and pulling it over his head. He chucks it down at the floor, a look of disdain curling his lips as he stares at Sam, bating him. “Or are you not Alpha enough to face me? Oh, that’s right. You’re not an Alpha. You’re a _bitch._ My _bitch._ ”

Sam’s pulse quickens in anger. Or lust. He doesn’t know. But he takes his tie off as well, unbuttons the first two buttons of his shirt and regrets wearing white because Dean’s clearly not looking to pull punches.

And he certainly isn’t. The first hit has Sam’s head reeling, barely a couple of strides forward before he’s cupping his cheek on instinct. He lets his hand drop, cuts his eyes to Dean and advances on him, catching the next swing in an effort to launch Dean off his feet.

It doesn’t work. Dean ducks under his reach, lips pursed as he carves a fist through the air heading for Sam’s chin. Sam steps back in time, feeling like he’s experiencing whiplash from the speed at which he needed to react. It leaves him open for a frontal attack, nimble fingers ducking into the gaps of his shirt and tearing it open, buttons flying all over the place, the little clicks on the ground drowned out by the fierce growl from Dean’s throat.

Sam fights the hands on his skin, digging his nails into thinner wrists. He’s impressed with Dean’s resilience, not letting up even when Sam’s claws come out and cut a small line. Dean acts as if it means nothing at all, face unchanging even when Sam manages to clip him on the chin.

A booted foot gets him on his back then, Dean wrenching his jeans off his body, throwing them off to the side and bending Sam in half, face so close to his, lips inches from sealing over his own.

“Are we fighting or fucking?” Sam grits, hating how turned on he is. Dean doesn’t say anything, simply glares at him as he gets his cock out of his pants and pokes the head at Sam’s dry hole. “Fucking, then? I thought you were gonna let me have it, Dean.”

“Oh, I intend to. I intend to break you down to nothing, Sammy. I’m not gonna stop until you’re _begging_ me to,” Dean enunciates his words with slow grinds that have Sam’s cock throbbing between them. “Like I said… You’re _my bitch._ ”

The way he says it has his inner Alpha raging, muscles bunching as he throws Dean off of him, to the side. Dean doesn’t stay where he is long, tearing off his clothes, standing tall and proud, cock swinging like a pendulum as he scrunches up the last shreds of his clothes and tosses them, eyes on Sam’s prone form the entire time.

Sam gets to his feet, hoping to hide the quiver in his legs as he rises to his full height, unable to prevent himself from bristling at Dean’s entirely too unaffected state. Sam’s used to other Alphas showing at least some intimidation when he squares his shoulders, stands as tall as he actually is and radiates that power through his posture.

Not Dean. No. Dean doesn’t flinch at all. In fact, he looks even more cocksure, cock straining up towards his stomach, almost in a come hither gesture that really pisses Sam off, charging headlong into Dean without thinking, not ready for a foot jamming into his ankle, throwing him off his balance. He feels panic coming over him when the force of his rush is turned against him, the room spinning along with him as he’s hurled straight through the nearest window, glass cutting into his skin, unable to heal the parts that bury underneath.

Those around the room stop and stare, taking in his nudity, curiosity lingering in the air. They know not to get involved. Alpha on Alpha battles are to be left for them to sort out. If one of them dies, that’s on them. No one can get involved because it will just become a blood bath. So no one does anything when Dean comes a to stop next to Sam outside of the window, hauls him up to his feet and bends him backwards over the nearest desk.

Sam grits his teeth and switches their positions, desperately ignoring the heat in his groin as he slams Dean’s head back on it, the metal caving in under the weight of it.

“That tickles,” Dean says, smirking meanly at him as he brings his knees up, digs his heels into Sam’s sternum and launches him back down onto the ground, the wind knocked out of him on impact, body twisting side to side as he groans. “You really wanna do this _here,_ Sammy?” Dean questions, a fierce, hoarse whisper at his ear. “You want all of them to see how you give that ass up to me on the reg?”

He doesn’t. They can’t see him like that. They can’t see _Dean_ doing that to him. He’ll lose the promotion for showing weakness to another Alpha. Hell, he’ll lose the respect of the office for the same thing. Sam knows that they can’t do this here, that he can’t let it end here, where everyone else can see them.

So he kicks out. He swings, ducks, sweeps his feet, pushes, forces Dean back, embraces the wall caving in his spine, ignores the brutal crack of his ribs when Dean’s knee flies up, solid like titanium beating against Sam’s form. Sam slams his head into his nose in retaliation, the scent of blood heavy in the air. Fists pound against flesh, claws sneak out to join the festivities, long gashes ripping moans form sore throats, curses filtering through the air, rubble piling around their feet, forgotten as Dean’s back splinters a closed door, a grunt the only indication that he feels it, body twisting their position, Sam’s head splintering the wood further until there’s a fine, jagged line from top to bottom.

One more push and he’ll fall through it. One more push and they’ll think Dean is winning.

“Come on, Sammy,” Dean teases, teeth bloody and grin wet and open. “You know you want _this,_ so whaddya say we skip the in-between and get right down to my knot rammed up your fuckin’ ass,” he suggests lewdly, one hand wrapped around Sam’s throat, the other searing a permanent brand on his hip, getting ready to turn him, rut against him in view of whoever is interested enough to watch.

Sam’s so turned on he can barely see straight. And he knows Dean knows that. He knows that Sam’s hole is _pulsing_ like it has its own goddamn heartbeat and it won’t slow down until Dean’s buried balls deep inside him. He knows that Sam’s one move away from bearing his throat for Dean to sink his teeth into, to tear into him, bite and gnash until Sam’s left scarred, never to fully heal from the onslaught. He knows that Sam’s not gonna last much longer, that he doesn’t even want to keep on fighting right now.

But he has to. He has to keep fighting because there’s more at stake than his messed up addiction for this other Alpha. This other Alpha who he loathes with all of his being and yet somehow ends up underneath again and again, clenching and writhing with pleasure-pain, so wrong it’s right drilling into him with each press in, thrusts that turn his bones to mush and leave him aching when they’re gone.

He should be disgusted by it. He shouldn’t want another Alpha to turn him inside out, leave him open and exposed to the world, fill him with so much cum his stomach swells from it, his body not equipped to take such a lengthy amount in the slightest. Fuck him, he does, though. His eyes roll back in his head when Dean’s knot locks them together, his fight or flight instinct on the verge of blending into one, ears a slave to the degrading shit spewed in his ear as Dean harps on about how much of slut he is for his Alpha knot, how Sam wants nothing more than to be an Omega bitch, probably wishing that instead of popping a knot, slick poured out of his ass so that he could take a knot like he was born to do it.

Maybe he was, anyway.

No. Fuck that. Sam can’t let them see him sweat.

He grapples for the handle and turns it, allowing their combined weight to collapse into the room. While Dean is momentarily surprised by the action, Sam shoves him off of him, kicks the door shut, locks it and spins on his heel.

Dean’s recovered by then, tension in his jaw.

“This doesn’t mean you’ve won,” Sam says quietly, more measured than he would have thought given the level of arousal he’s dealing with.

There’s a smug grin stretching Dean’s lips as he gets back on his feet. They stand there, staring at each other, and Sam senses a line of electricity connecting them, getting louder as the gap closes, Dean’s hand coming up behind his head, throwing all of his weight into getting Sam bent in half over the nearby filing cabinet.

Dean’s hand doesn’t move, fingers curling around wisps of hair, pulling it back with a squeeze. Sam feels Dean’s thick, long cock riding the crease of his ass, pre-come dripping onto the small of his back. There’s laboured breathing behind him. Anger? Arousal? Sam’s not sure, but Dean’s not holding back if the brutal slap to his ass is any indication, his teeth gritting from the pleasure-pain that explodes over him, ass wriggling without his permission when Dean spreads his cheeks with his free hand.

Instincts are snarling and snapping internally, telling him that this isn’t right. He shouldn’t be in this position. Not ever. The sensations rippling over his skin at the mere stroke of Dean’s cock over his throbbing asshole is enough to cling onto that he can barely feel the sickening stab of wrong in his gut.

Surprisingly, Dean suddenly steps away from him and makes a sound of disgust.

“What the fuck’re you doing, Sam?” he asks seriously, for once.

Sam turns his head to face him, ass still pushed out, shamelessly waiting to be filled. “Isn’t this what you were aiming for when you stripped me of everything? You said you wanted me to beg. This not enough for you?”

Dean scoffs. “Oh, you’re going to beg me, Sammy. Believe me. But not like this. This is just pathetic, even for you,” he adds, and Sam wonders if he’s reading the disappointment correctly. “If I wanted someone who was just gonna _take it_ I’d find me some Beta or Omega to fuck around with.”

“So you want me to fight back? And, what, take a shot at your ass?” Sam questions, pleasantly amused.

“If that’s the motivation you need to stop being such a bitch, run with that.”

“What does it matter to you?”

“I like the fight. I like to bend you, break you, make you come apart on my knot. It’s not the same if you just give it the fuck up,” Dean explains, looking altogether done with this conversation. They don’t often get past insults and harsh glares, so this is new territory for them.

“You could always chase a different Alpha,” Sam suggests, shrugging.

Dean glares at him. “I’m not attracted to other Alphas.”

“Right. So you’re not currently hard. Nor have you knotted me more than twenty times. That was just my imagination.”

“Because you’re a Giant ass little shit who needs to be put in his damn place,” Dean snarls, suddenly gripping his hips and wrenching him against him. He turns them, shoves Sam’s face into the wall and ruts up against his ass. “Don’t think that makes you special.”

Sam grins toothily.

“Knotting is not something an Alpha is supposed to do to another Alpha. Doesn’t that make it special?”

A heated breath ghosts over the shell of his ear. Sam shudders.

“No. You’re just an easy lay,” Dean says, sneering, hips unrelenting now as he ruts against Sam. “An easy lay with the tightest ass I’ve ever had.”

“Well, I don’t have the luxury of easing the way for you,” Sam replies darkly, hand flicking back to catch Dean off guard. The bastard snares his wrist and pins it to his back. “And you call fighting you at every turn _easy_?”

“No,” Dean admits, the head of his cock pushing past the tight ring of Sam’s ass, slicked by the obscene amounts of pre-come leaking out of him. The wide stretch has Sam gritting his teeth and thumping his forehead on the wall, ass working to push Dean out instinctively, but he carries on like it’s a smooth glide, pressing against Sam’s insides, rearranging him in ways no one else has ever dared to, and Sam’s pumping out a heavy stream of pre-come before Dean bottoms out. “It’s an easy boost of testosterone, though. Not to mention an ego trip,” he tells Sam, pulling out then snapping back in with so much force the wall quivers.

“And yet you’re not attracted to Alphas?” Sam shoots back, ignoring how his insides are on fire, how he’s on cloud nine and he never, _ever_ wants to get off, not when Dean’s claws stab into the flesh of his ass and his heavy, huge balls stick to his taint.

“I. Am. Not. Attracted. To. Alphas,” Dean denies vehemently, each word a sharp, determined thrust that knocks the wind out of Sam’s sails, head lolling back, ass clenching around the cock inside him. He hates that he gets like this. Hates that he wants this so badly. “You’re the only Alpha I’ve had on my knot, Sammy. And I’m the furthest thing from attracted to you.”

“That’s ironic,” Sam retorts smugly, pushing his ass back onto Dean’s thrusts. “Not often Alphas get it up for anyone that doesn’t get their motor going.”

“Maybe that’s just you,” Dean says, twisting Sam’s hair in a vice grip and tugging his head back, effectively deepening the arch of his back, allowing Dean to go deeper, to stretch him even fuller than before. “Some of us aren’t Virgin Mary’s.”

“Again. Ironic,” Sam enunciates, turning his hips, arcing just enough to pound his fist on Dean’s chest, who, instead of getting angry, throbs inside Sam’s channel. So Sam hits him again, satisfied by the repulsion of his shoulder with each blow from his fist, Dean’s rhythm somehow not faltering at all as he fucks into Sam without a care in the world for his lack of equipment to take the brunt of it.

Sam fights harder then, clenching around Dean while simultaneously pushing hard enough on the wall to have Dean landing on his ass, Sam’s mouth falling open on a moan he barely manages to squash from the impact of the fall, Dean’s cock positioned at an angle that has him almost seeing stars.

Dean snaps his hips up once. Sam gets his hands on the floor and tries to crawl away from him, not really wanting to let Dean slip from his channel but he feels like he needs to push back somehow. He doesn't make it far, Dean climbing over the back of him, keeping himself firmly lodged inside as he sinks his teeth into the nape of Sam’s neck.

“We’re not done here,” he says once he releases him, and Sam feels confusion welling in his gut when a tongue lathes over the mark somewhat delicately. There’s no time to question or think about it as Dean starts bunny-fucking him, pressing most of his weight down on Sam’s back, cock drilling his hole and knot starting to fatten.

The familiar stretch floods Sam with anticipation, balls drawing up, cock pulsing out torrents of cum that almost makes his hands slip.

It’s fast, brutal, hurts so fucking good and Sam’s _gone,_ mind zeroing in on the sensations building within him, Dean’s slowly expanding knot, nothing but grunts, groans, growls between them that take on a new meaning when Dean snags of strip of skin between his teeth, fucks down _hard_ into Sam several times, pulling him back so roughly onto his thrusts that Sam’s convinced his organs are in the middle of an intense game of musical chairs, swapping and changing with each hard press in of Dean’s thick as fuck cock.

And then Dean’s knotting him, tying them together, hips never stopping their slow grind down. Sam’s body flattens to the floor, sweaty, used up, completely blissed out. He can hardly even hear the words coming out of Dean’s mouth.

At some point, he falls asleep.

When he wakes up, Dean’s asleep too, he hasn’t pulled out of him and it doesn’t look like he has any plans to move.

Great.

===

Pushing out what feels like ten gallons of Alpha sperm in the office bathroom is embarrassing. Realistically, it should _not_ be _this_ much. When the knot recognises that it’s not _attached_ to a _breedable_ orifice, it should lose interest after six or so pulses. _Not_ keep up a persistent, stomach-bulging stream that can last upwards of two hours _maximum_.

It’s bad enough that his hole is _sore,_ tender and pretty pissed off with him if the shocks to his spine are any indication. His ass will heal in a couple of hours or something. That’s semantics. It hurts _now,_ and that’s what’s important. He’s pushing out cum _now_ and that’s what’s frustrating. Frustrating because he kind of didn’t want to let it go, actually.

If Sam’s being real with himself, he wanted to plug it up even if it’s severely unhealthy for an Alpha to do that. Alphas having sex with each other isn’t unheard of, after all. It’s just extremely rare and has a don’t ask, don’t tell feature to it that the rest of the world abides by. No one is given shit for it. They’re treated differently when it comes to light, however. That’s something Sam has seen more than once in his travels and he doesn’t want the same thing to happen to him.

He’s not sure what’s wrong with him. When did his life go to shit? Oh, that’s right. The first time Dean tied them together and fell asleep wrapped around his body, sealed up inside him, releasing bursts of cum that would do absolutely nothing to get him pregnant, and yet showed zero signs of slowing down. Sam had woken up intermittently, ass clenching reflexively around Dean’s knot, head angling up to check the time on a perceivable clock.

The first time it happened, Dean tied to him for over two hours. That’s practically unheard of. Even for Alpha/Omega ties. When his knot deflated and he slipped out, stirred awake by Sam rolling away from him, Dean made out like Sam wasted two hours of his life, how he’s such a fucking pain, groaning and griping, sniping and pointing fingers in his face as he gathered his shit up, cast one more pissy glare in his direction and then left like the remnants of a storm.

Not that he would ever say the words out loud, but Sam felt… _safe_ when they were tied together, and _comforted_ by Dean’s arms wrapped around him, warm, sleepy breaths puffing over the nape of his neck. Dean’s face sometimes nuzzled him throughout the tie. Sam didn’t know what to say or do about it so he kept still, tried not to react to it. The worst thing had been gentle kisses and content _mmms_ behind him, strong arms squeezing him tighter as another round of cum pumped into his channel. Worst, for reasons that Sam doesn’t completely have a grasp on himself.

Fortunately, the swelling in his belly is rapidly going down. Another few pushes and the rest can work itself out of his system at a later time. Sam seriously needs to get some work done for the three to four hours he’s been away from his desk, already having agreed with himself that he’ll stay overtime to make up for it. He’s not sure if Dean will do the same thing. He hates missing happy hour after all. Always the first to complain when they’re told that they need to stay back to finish the current project, which he has no issues making Sam’s problem entirely, amping up the insults and challenging literally _everything_ he says just to get a rise out of him.

Sam finishes up in the bathroom, thrilled to find out that no one is in there with him. He takes his time washing his hands, ignoring the little pulses of his asshole with each step he makes out of the room and back to his desk.

When he sits down with a wince, he hears a snicker coming from a few cubicles down. His eyes narrow but he doesn’t say anything. No need to even look up to know that Dean is smirking smugly in his general direction.

“Smith and Wesson, get your dumb asses in my office right now,” Andrea, their managing director demands, her voice carrying over the large office space to them with ease. No one turns to look as they both get up. Dean pays no attention to him at all, all charm as he sidles up to Andrea. “Wipe the smirk off your face, Smith,” she grits, thumbing behind her, and Dean grumbles something under his breath as he passes.

Andrea passes them both and circles her desk, the jacket of her pantsuit riding a touch as she takes her seat, staring coldly at them until they do the same.

“What’s this about, Andy?” Dean questions, one eyebrow quirked in amusement.

Ignoring his use of Andy instead of her actual name, Andrea says, “This pissing competition between the two of you needs to stop. Right now. I’m not dipping into the company fundings to pay for your reckless behavior anymore. Too many tables, desks, windows, doors, even staplers have been harmed during your many, many fights and I’m on my last nerve.” She’s right to ignore it. Dean wouldn’t have listened anyway. It’s clear that she’s not done, so Sam keeps his ears open. “Until you have resolved your issues, or, one of you decides to quit because you’re not Alpha enough to be rational, you won’t be welcome back to work. Instead, you’ll be attending a couples retreat—”

“A _what_?” They both parrot.

Andrea acts as if they hadn’t said anything at all.

“There you will attend classes on learning how to better understand each other, how to exist in the same room without tearing each other’s throats out—or, at least, how to be civil because I can’t walk out of here one more time and see this place a wreck. I _know_ that you’re protected under the Alpha’s Law act, but I, frankly, don’t care. You need to get your shit together, stop being total _knotheads,_ and start working as a unit. Do you have _any_ idea how _much_ you could get done if you worked _together?_ Hell, I could probably retire by age 45, get myself a nice beach house, live there with my beautiful wife… Anyway. I digress. The retreat starts in three days. Get out of here, pack, be there when you need to be there, don’t let me down—you know the drill. Now get out.”

Dean sputters for a little while. Eventually, he aims a _this is all your fault/watch your back, Jack/stay away from dark alleyways/you’re next/I’m going to fucking murder you/It’s your funeral, pal_ glare at the side of his head, nods primly to Andrea and then storms out of the office, shoving anyone that crosses his path out of the way. He only knows this because he hears more crashing and cursing and Dean warning them he’s going to do it if they don’t get out of his face.

There’s something rooting Sam to his seat, a pile of dread so heavy and deep that he doesn’t have it within him to stand. A couples retreat? What the _hell?_ What is Andrea trying to say or do here? Sam’s confused, feeling cornered with the development. He doesn’t know how to process it. Should he quit his job? He could, has enough savings to last him until he finds something else—permanent, away from Dean.

His heart pangs at the thought of leaving the other Alpha behind, making the pit in his stomach expand even wider, nausea crawling up his throat. Sam’s palms are sweaty when he curls his fingers in, forcing himself to nod tersely before standing to get out of the office. Andrea made no motion to suggest she had been waiting for him to leave, or even knew he was still sitting in front of her in the first place.

Sam gathers up his things as fast as he can, paying no attention to the odd looks that he’s getting as he darts out of the office, wondering what hell he just _signed up_ for.

===

When Sam turns up at the _couples_ retreat, he’s not expecting to see Dean here, even though it’s that or lose his job. But he is. Here, that is, arms crossed over his chest, brooding lips pursed in annoyance as he waits to check in to the hotel resort they’ll be staying at for the retreat. Sam thanks his lucky stars, that, even though it’s a _couples-themed_ retreat, Andrea didn’t book them in the same room. Instead, she wisely chose ones that are on the opposite sides of the building. They would have to climb stairs or take elevators and cross halls just to bitch the other out if they felt like it.

Sam pulls his suitcase along with him to the check-in desk, pretending that Dean’s not even there as he starts talking with the Beta clerk, who looks between them like they know something they don’t. It’s odd, a frown tugging at Sam’s lips in question of it. The Beta doesn’t rise to it, passing him his room key, the itinerary and a welcome pack that he accepts with a nod of thanks, failing to remain oblivious to Dean’s harsh gaze directed at the side of his head.

Clearing his throat, Sam wheels his belongings away to the elevator, teeth gritting when he senses another pair of wheels rolling after him and heavy footsteps.

“This is supposed to be our retreat, _honey,_ ” Dean mocks, getting ahead of him and smashing the button on the elevator. “You’re gonna make me look like I’m not even tryin’ if you walk past me like that.”

Sam’s probably wrong… Yeah. No, he’s totally wrong. There’s not a chance that Dean’s anger seems more directed at his lack of acknowledgement of the other Alpha than the utter inconvenience of this _couples_ retreat.

“Sorry. I didn’t see you,” Sam lies, refusing to look at him while they wait for the doors to ding open.

Dean’s back is to him for the time being, shoulders so rigid they look they’re about to snap. The bow of his legs is tenser than usual, and the fist not around the handle of his suitcase is clenched, showing the whites of his knuckles.

“Stop staring or I’ll have to start charging by the second,” Dean voices to the door, tone a mix of exasperation and irritation. “How long is this elevator gonna take?!”

“As long as it takes,” Sam replies calmly, a smirk playing on his lips when it chooses that moment to open up. “There you go, Sparky. No need to have a meltdown.”

Dean looks down at his feet, bottom lip pushing up his top one, whispers something under his breath and then steps into the elevator, putting as much distance between them as he can.

The moment the doors close and they've both settled in, Sam’s back protests the weight of Dean’s body crushing it against the wall. He really should have seen this reaction coming.

“We’re here because of you, dick-bag,” Dean spits, eyes sweeping down to Sam’s lips and then back up, grip on his shirt shoving him again, jostling his frame. “You don’t get to be all _high and mighty_ about this.”

“We’re here because you _clearly_ can’t keep your hands off of me,” Sam challenges, wincing from Dean’s claws biting into the skin of his wrists as they’re pinned by his side. “That’s not helping your case.”

“What’re you tryin’ to say, Wesson?” Dean's eyes are like molten fireballs.

“That you’ve got a thing for Alphas. Just admit it. You’ll feel renewed, or something.”

“You’re wrong. I don’t have a thing for Alphas.”

“No,” Sam grins cheekily, not sure where all this sudden confidence came from. “You have a thing for one Alpha. Me.”

Sam stumbles on his feet from the force of being spun and shoved to the opposite side of the elevator, Dean’s shoulders rising and falling, eyes narrowed to fine slits as he stares him down.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dean says after a few minutes of _intense_ staring, eyes cutting to the number appearing above the door. “This is me,” he announces cooly, grabs the handle of his suitcase and spares no more glances back as he steps off, leaving Sam to get his breath back and will away his erection.

===

The first thing on the itinerary is called _Tell Them How You Feel,_ and Sam is already thinking of it with resentment before he’s even taken his seat on one of the, admittedly, comfortable chairs. Some couples are holding hands. Some are not. Dean is having an argument, stating that he and Sam are not a couple so there’s no need for them to have to sit next to each other. The Omega group leader tells him that that’s his assigned seat and his boss assured them that they would have their full cooperation. It’s the first Sam’s hearing of it, however, just to piss Dean off, when the Omega group leader motions for his corroboration, he offers it willingly.

Dean looks like he bites back a growl, offers the Omega a small _look, I know it’s not your fault and I’m sorry I was being an ass, we good_ smile before taking his assigned seat. He doesn’t look at Sam this time, much less give way to knowing that he’s actually sitting next to him all. Hasn’t said anything since what Sam said in the elevator apparently ruffled his feathers. Whatever. Sam didn’t want to talk to him anyway.

Now that all are seated and accounted for, the session starts. Couples admit what’s bothering them. There are some tears, denial, assertions that the other Were is lying. Sam doesn’t listen, much. He’s figuring out what he’s going to say when it comes to their turn because he hasn’t been able to think of anything the entire time that everyone else has been harping on about all their damn problems.

At least Dean looks just as uncomfortable as he is with the whole situation.

The time to talk comes around all too soon in Sam’s opinion. He still doesn’t know what to say, and he really hates that they have to look at each other while they say it. _Look them in their eyes and tell them how you feel. Get it all out in the open. Then you can start to understand each other better._ But what do you say when you’ve been enemies from the word go? When your first meeting with each other ended in bloody lips, cuts in more places than one, clothes shredded, barely hanging onto their bodies and a wave of adrenaline so powerful you passed out? Sam has no clue where to start. He’s positive that Dean doesn’t, either.

He decides, after a while of nothing but blinking and coming up short to just say the first thing that comes to his mind.

“I don’t know what your problem is with me, Dean. From the get-go, you’ve been on me about one thing or another, starting fights over the stupidest shit that most here wouldn’t even believe if I told them about it,” Sam starts, choosing to pretend that his heart isn’t beating erratically in his chest from having to hold Dean’s intense gaze. “I’ll admit that since we started this… _whatever_ this is, I’ve intentionally done some things that would rub you the wrong way, piss you off, and you’ve done the same to me. Y’know, that became our thing and that’s fine, and who doesn’t like a bit of rivalry… But, dude… _Why_ did I become the bane of your existence within the first, what, five minutes of meeting me?”

Sam thought that Dean wouldn't actually respond at all.

He’s wrong.

“Okay, I’ll bite. I don’t respect Alphas that don’t respect themselves,” Dean begins, gesturing vaguely to Sam. “You walked in that first day with your shoulders hunched, clothes swallowing up your frame so that people couldn’t see how tall or built you were and it pissed me off. You didn’t even have an opinion until four months into the job when you finally opened your mouth to argue against a point that wasn’t made by me. I don’t know what you were doing. Maybe you thought that if you kept to yourself you wouldn’t become a target. Well, look how that turned out? You’re a fucking powerful Alpha Sam, you should act like it from time to time. Not always. No one’s asking you to be a dick or start swinging it around for all eyes to _marvel_ at it or some shit, but it shouldn’t have taken me hounding you, among other things to wake your ass up and push you to start presenting more as the Alpha you’re meant to be. It doesn’t mean I _care_ or anything. Just don’t wanna work with a pussy—not that anyone other than an Alpha is a pussy or whatever—you guys know what I mean.”

The revelation is both shocking and kind of flattering, actually. Dean hated him from the word go because he wasn’t acting Alpha enough and hiding his strength and stuff. Well… Sam supposes that kind of makes sense. He did make himself smaller so he didn’t emasculate any of the other Alphas. Not that it ever bothered Dean, the challenge rising in his eyes every time Sam stood to his full height and squared his shoulders, ready to fight back. Maybe it’s just the _fight_ that Dean lives for, that knowledge that he’s _dominating_ a, by all rights, _powerful_ Alpha.

“And the other thing?” Sam prompts, not really sure why he asked.

Dean licks his lips. “I told you already.”

“You said I was, y’know. But that’s not true. It happens maybe 1/10th of the times that we’ve gone at it,” Sam reminds him, heat creeping into his cheeks as he suspects that the couples around the room are starting to catch up. “So I’m not _easy._ What gives?”

A plump bottom lip gets caught between straight white teeth for a single beat before it’s released. “It feels good. Really, really good. And I won’t apologise for that.”

“I’m not asking you to, but…”

“But what? You want to snuggle afterwards or something?” Dean says, rolling his eyes. “Sorry. I’m more of a hit and run type.”

Sam snorts, completely forgetting that they’re not at all alone. “I wouldn’t exactly call over two hours a hit and run, Dean.”

“I can’t control my knot, Sammy,” Dean admits shamelessly, and the confusion must show on his face because Dean adds, “I’m not an asshole. I think Weres should be able to fuck whoever the hell they want and not feel guilty about it. Except for, y’know, the obvious.”

“Yeah…”

“That doesn’t mean I’m attracted to _other_ Alphas.”

“So I’m really?…”

“Yeah, you are,” Dean tells him, for once not glaring at him. “Truth is, you’re the only Alpha I’ve done… anythin’ with.”

“Same here,” Sam admits, feeling mildly uncomfortable now that they’re having some kind of heart to heart.

The feeling doesn’t go away until he falls into a restless sleep that night, dreaming about Dean holding him tight against a wall, knee rubbing up over his crotch and lips on his.

===

The following morning, Sam’s barely got his door open, ready to go down and have some breakfast when he’s shoved back roughly, feet just about keeping him from keeling over. The door shuts in front of him, Dean’s profile coming into view. He turns to Sam, face passive as he approaches him, saying nothing, eyes boring into his as he yanks his belt out of the loops, gets denim down past his ass and then propels him backwards onto the bed.

Dean stalks up to him, settles between his legs, hands going to his jeans to unbutton them.

“What are you doing?” Sam asks, far more out of breath than he should be.

“I’m horny,” Dean states simply, getting himself out of his jeans before stripping Sam’s bottom half the rest of the way, fingers biting into his legs as they grapple and hoist him back so his ass is hanging off the end.

“I thought—” Sam clears his throat, swallows. “I thought you liked the fight?”

“I don’t want to fight right now. I want to fuck,” Dean replies, jerking his cock with one hand, using the other to gather up pre-come on his fingers to do a quick, half-decent job of preparing Sam’s hole for him.

“I know this is a couples retreat, but like… I’m sure you can get a Beta or—”

“Shut up, Sammy. I don’t want to risk hanging around if I tie with some nobody I won’t even remember the name of,” Dean replies, pulling his jeans down to his knees and guiding the head of his cock to Sam’s hole. “You’re here. You’re available. We’ve done this before. You’re not saying no, so how ‘bout you shut your mouth and let me get us there, huh?”

Sam opts not to say anything, struck by the knowledge that this is the first time that Dean has fucked him on his back. And it’s also the first time that Dean touched his cock. The first time he jerks him off while pounding into him, a deep, gravelly voice demanding that he come. Sam does, almost violently, half-aware of Dean’s constant stream of complaints as he lays over him, irritated by the cum sticking to his chest while they tie.

Like most of the time, Dean falls asleep while tied to him. Unlike most of the time, Sam feels a kiss on the side of his neck and he has no idea what to think or feel when, instead of being disgusted by it, he wants him to do it again so badly it actually physically hurts.

===

Now that two of them have gotten past glaring and spewing hateful bullshit, they’ve been talking about things that actually interest them. Things that they share in common. Some of them are a stretch. Sam has an eclectic taste in music. Dean likes classic rock and he’s not very flexible on that. A couple of songs, it turns out, Sam’s a fan of, and Dean talks his ear off about everything he knows about the band, the origin of the song, the meaning of all the lyrics, and Sam is surprised to note that he doesn’t get bored of listening to Dean talk or feel like he needs to interrupt at any point.

Even more surprisingly, when it’s _his_ turn to talk and he goes on about _geeky shit,_ Dean listens to what he has to say, even if it looks like he would rather be either fucking him, beating each other senseless or murdering the plate of burgers resting on the table to their right.

It’s during a rant about air travel that Sam asks, “Does this mean that… y’know, the war is over? Should I call the press and schedule an interview?”

Dean snorts.

“You’re all right, Sam. Just stop being something you’re not and I won’t have any problems with you. But, if you ever feel the need to release some stress and wanna go toe-to-toe with someone actually able to keep up with you, well, you know where to find me.”

===

Amazingly, a couple of months ago Sam and Dean were at each other’s throats at the drop of a hat. Now, they’re getting along fine, Dean doesn’t glare at him the moment he sees him or start a fight with him the second he says _something_ he doesn’t agree with. The mood around the office is healthier. Everyone, including Andrea, has noticed the change between them, and, smartly decided not to press and risk stirring the pot, and Sam made the conscious decision to offer the _New Hampshire_ position to Dean, who refused to take it because he hadn’ earnt it, so he suggested that they offer if to someone else.

Sam would be lying if he said that he didn’t miss the fighting. It kept things exciting, made the blood pump through his veins—made him feel alive even. At this rate, his body’s gonna start regenerating cells purely from the anticipation of the next hit. The next hit that’s not going to come because Dean hasn’t _touched_ him since they got back from the retreat.

Nothing. No shoves. No grips. No grapples on his shirt collar.

Sam actually misses it. He misses the pseudo intimacy that came from it, Dean’s body smushed up against his own, all that naked skin flush with his, sticking to him as the exertion built and built, tempers flaring, skin rippling from the force of skin slapping skin, Sam’s wrists bound over his back, trapped in the seal of Dean’s hands, deep grunts and low growls penetrating the fog of his mind as Dean pounded away at him.

He’s ashamed to admit that he’s _jerked_ off to it. He never used to do that. Maybe because it was more regular than he was letting on. Sam doesn’t know. All he does know is that work isn’t exciting anymore.

Perhaps that’s why he’s… Considering something.

Alphas that like to get with other Alphas do have places that are willing to facilitate that type of meeting. Sam’s been contemplating for a while whether or not he should give it a shot. After all, he’s had sex a couple of times since he’s been back. With Betas. One Omega. And while they got the job done, it didn’t give him that… _fulfilment_ that he’s been searching for since that night in the hotel when Dean tied them on his back.

Sam has to look within himself here. Does he like Alphas? Is he maybe… into Alphas? Or is it Dean? Is it _just_ Dean that he wants to _submit_ to or is there more to it than that? Has he been deluding himself into thinking that he would one day settle down with a Beta or Omega, have a few pups and have an apple pie life?

He doesn’t know how to answer that. It’s hard to imagine, is what he will say. And he’s never found himself staring at any other Alphas in _that_ way, but maybe that’s simply because he didn’t try to _look_ enough.

“Shoulders back, Wesson,” Dean projects across the room, nodding in satisfaction when Sam adheres to his demand. “Keep ‘em that way or it’s your ass.”

The rebel in him wants to clap back, rile Dean up, get those hands on him. He almost drops them. Almost messes up his whole posture. Almost asks Dean what he _plans_ to do about it. He doesn’t. Things are good between them. Dean’s thing about Sam diminishing his own power has been brought up a couple of times. Dean’s told him again and again that hiding your true nature is dumb and irritating, that he’s free to do it around whoever the hell else but not him.

Even Dean has admitted that it’s weird, this _sort of_ obsession he has with Sam remaining true to himself, highlighting it on occasion, laughing about how royally pissed he actually used to get when Sam tucked himself into the corner and tried to not stand out in a room full of other Weres. Dean confessed to him that he would bristle the whole way through the meeting, getting more and more agitated the longer Sam dipped his legs, hunched in on himself and gave off the impression that he was trying to disappear.

It’s bizarre, truly. But it’s also… kind of sweet. Not that he would tell Dean that.

Sam shakes his head and gets back to work, deciding that it wouldn’t be so bad for him to at least try and see if he might be sort of into other Alphas, outside of Dean.

A couple of hours later, he smells cedarwood and gun oil to his side, nose twitching before his head turns to greet the owner of that unique scent. This time, it’s with a friendly smile, which Dean shockingly returns.

“Hey, Sasquatch.”

“Hey.”

Dean perches on the edge of his desk. Sam feels the full weight of his scent mixed with the day's sweat and musk crawl up his nose and gets instantly hard in his pants. Shit. Maybe he really _is_ attracted to Alphas.

“I was gonna get a couple of beers after work. You in?”

“Oh. Uh, I actually have plans,” Sam says, ignoring the tightening of his throat. “How about tomorrow?”

Dean quirks his lips. “Plans, huh? Doin’ what?”

“Nothin’ important. I promised a friend I’d help them move some stuff. I know it’s late but they couldn’t get a time slot until the evening,” he lies in return, hoping he’s not sweating as much as he thinks he is.

Next to him, Dean narrows his eyes marginally, assessing him. After a few beats of uncomfortable silence, on Sam’s part, Dean nods his head and steps back.

“Sure. Whatever. Have fun movin’ shit,” Dean says, playing it off like he’s not bothered and failing miserably.

Why is he bothered, though?

===

Sam finds out why a few hours later when Dean’s dragging him down an alleyway, forearm hooked around his throat. His feet kick and slide on the ground, hands grappling for purchase, nails piercing the flesh of Dean’s arms but the other Alpha acts like it’s nothing more than a bug landing on his skin that will eventually fuck off.

There’s music pulsing through the walls. Sam feels it thrumming along the ground, wondering if anyone in the club would actually hear him if he cried out. Should he? Dean’s never done _this_ before.

He tries to speak but his words are cut off by the seal of Dean’s arms. Eventually, he stops resisting and lets himself be dragged to wherever the hell Dean’s taking him.

Which turns out to be his car.

At the door, he releases Sam. He looks really fucking pissed off. More so than Sam has _ever_ seen him in the entire time he has known the other Alpha. Who the hell peed in his cereal?

“Get in the fucking car, Sam,” Dean grits, throwing the door open. “Now.”

“What? No. What the fuck was that?” Sam questions instead, putting a hand around his throat to check for bruising. There isn’t any but that’s not the point. “You show up out of nowhere, don’t even say a word and start hauling me off without warning. I mean… the fuck, Dean?”

“Get… In… The… Car,” Dean says slowly, icily, nails elongating to their true length, teeth breaking out of their cage. “Right now.”

Sam chooses to believe that it’s curiosity that gets him in the car and not Dean’s reddening eyes—something he’s never seen before—or the fact that he’s literally shaking with rage. The door slams behind him and then Dean’s getting in the driver's side, peeling out of the lot so fast the tyres scream.

Throughout the drive, Sam opens his mouth several times to speak. To ask questions. Something. Each time he goes to do it, he’s stopped by the sharp look that Dean turns on him, knuckles so white on the steering wheel it looks like they might actually tear through the skin, which, with reluctance, keeps Sam quiet.

Even when the car stops, Dean doesn’t say anything to him. He removes himself from the car, comes around to Sam’s side, wrenches the door open, slings him out and into a wall and then closes the door behind him.

“What is your—”

“Shut up,” Dean snaps, passing him, time freezing when their eyes meet for a few breaths, Dean’s fingers curling into his collar and dragging him up to the front door, where he turns the key in the lock, gets the door open and _encourages_ Sam to get inside. In the privacy of what must be Dean’s house, Sam tries to take a glimpse of the interior, however, is offered no chance because Dean’s shoving him through the house, taking long steps each time to close the distance, only to shove him back again, all the way to a bathroom, where Dean shreds him of his clothes—that he paid good money for—and pushes him into the shower cubicle. “You fucking reek,” Dean says, nose scrunched in unbridled disgust, jaw clenched so tight Sam thinks it might actually break.

He feels the spray of the shower raining down on him but he hardly notices it. Dean grabs the showerhead, coats him in several planes of water before snatching the shower gel out of a little wall attachment and a luffa, squeezing a fat dollop out of the bottle. Then he’s scrubbing Sam’s skin, the material of his clothes getting soaked but it looks like he couldn’t care less, jostling Sam around, stretching his arms out, bending him to get better access to certain areas, scrubbing him redraw.

When he’s done, Sam is amazed by how hard his dick is. Who would have thought being _washed_ would be something he’s into.

And then Dean says, “I can still smell them on you,” his tone is nuclear, nostrils flaring. “What the fuck were you thinkin’, lettin’ those knot heads touch you, huh? If you wanted to get fucked, you know where I am. I told you that before… remember?”

“That’s what you’re pissed about?” Sam snaps, shoving him. Dean’s too angry and rage-fuelled to move from his spot, so all Sam gets for his effort is a shoulder jerk. “I wanted to see if I’d like it.”

“Well, you _obviously_ like it, Sam,” Dean tells him, eyeing the state of his hard, leaking cock. “You’ve been with me enough times.”

Sam glares at him.

“With someone else. Some other Alpha. Some _other_ knot, Dean. It can’t just be you, can it?”

If anything, this just makes Dean angrier.

“You don’t need _another_ knot. I’m _right_ here. Ready. _Willing_. Able. So stop with this, this, whoring your ass out to the closest thing with a dick and come to me when you’re horny, yeah?”

“Not coming to you is the whole point! How am I supposed to know if I like to be with Alphas or not if you’re my only option?” Sam replies, pushing wet hair out of his face.

“I’m a pretty good option,” Dean hits back, tearing his clothes off. “In fact, I’m the best option. Why would you settle for second best, Sammy? That just makes no sense at all,” he adds with a laugh that he probably hopes sounds casual.

Sam goes to say something. Thinks better of. Glares harder instead. “You make it sound like no one else should have the _privilege of_ knotting me or something,” he replies with a roll of his eyes, taking a step out of the cubicle. He doesn’t make the step, Dean’s naked, wet body pressing him back into the tiles, breath warm and eager on his throat.

“I got there first. I know how you tick. They’re just gonna use you and then toss your ass aside—”

“Isn’t that what you’ve been doing this whole time?” Sam reminds him, a sour note to his voice. “I don’t see how it’s any different if I let a different Alpha fuck—”

“Don’t say it,” Dean grits, hands sealing around his ass and squeezing just this side of painful. “I own this ass. It belongs to me. I’ve marked it. I’ve bitten it. I’ve fucked it. I’ve _filled_ it. By all intents and purposes, your ass is _mine,_ and _no one else's_.”

“So this is just some territorial bull? You dumped inside me first, now no one else gets to?”

“That’s right,” Dean agrees, lips almost touching the flesh of Sam’s moist throat. “It’s the rules of the universe, Sammy.”

“No, it isn’t.” Sam snorts. “What’s really going on here, Dean?”

The shower continues to rain on them, the pitter-patter a tranquil ambience warring with the heat emitting from their eyes and the rapid thump of pumping hearts against their cages. Dean’s silent for a long time, hands flexing intermittently on their perch. It feels like he’s about to stop everything, tell Sam to forget what he saw, forget all of it, go home or back to the club or whatever, but don’t bring what happened here tonight up again.

He’s wrong, again.

Dean says nothing with words. He says it all with his body, lips sealing over Sam’s, hands turning tender as they knead and lift the flesh of his ass instead of digging blunt fingers into it. Sam doesn’t mind the roughness, but the soft treatment is also kind of nice. So is the arm snaking around, the eager tongue delving into his mouth, tasting all of him. Dean’s throat is whirring, creating a tickle on the roof of Sam’s mouth. He ignores it in favour of giving in to the heat rushing through him, the need that’s been building up ever since that first day that he saw the other Alpha creating eye-sized craters in the side of his head from across the way—even then he felt something awaken within him. He just didn’t know what to call it, where to box it inside his head, how to even approach it.

The shower shuts off, their wet bodies stepping back and out of the bathroom, lips attached until Dean’s lead them somewhere, reaching blindly for a handle, eventually breaking it when he can’t seem to jiggle it down without having to use his eyes. Sam groans as his back tears the door off its hinges, Dean spinning him, licking the top of his back as he walks him forward, shoving him face-down on the bed. He starts at the base of his spine, licking and kissing his way up to the top. Maybe he’s apologising for using him as a battering ram? Sam doesn’t really care. It feels too good to fucking care right now.

Sam’s legs spread without his permission, knees bending, hips rising up, ass presenting an open invitation of its own accord. Dean makes a clicking noise in the back of his throat and flips Sam onto his back, sealing one hand around his ankle to pull him back down the bed, their groins meeting, cocks pulsing and sliding against each other as Dean bends Sam in half so he can get his lips back on him, fucking his tongue in and out of his mouth, growling throatily between kisses and nips to the tender flesh.

They’re breathing into each other’s mouths when Sam feels a finger stroke over his hole. He remembers then, that he lubed himself up just in case the Alpha he ended up pulling wouldn’t have even bothered to try and prepare him.

Dean shoves three fingers in roughly, curls them up and over and starts a brutal assault on his prostate that has Sam’s legs stuttering. “Any of them fuck you?” he asks, sweeping his digits back and forth, pressing up on the fourth stroke. “Any of them get to know what it feels like to have your tight, powerful body writing on their cock?”

Sam shakes his head harder than he needs to, hands palming Dean’s face. “No. I didn’t get that far.”

A breath of relief is the only response that Sam gets, a hand guiding him back down onto his back. Sam hooks his legs around Dean’s waist without him needing to do anything, and he’s grateful that he makes no comment on it.

Dean pauses with his cock in his hand, positioned at Sam’s hole, prepped and ready to go. Sam can’t help but wonder what’s on his mind, why he’s suddenly hesitating when he’s never had an issue just fucking into Sam before.

“You get what this means, right?” Dean asks, riding the crease with slow, concise strokes.

“What… what means?”

Dean raises an eyebrow and pushes just the head inside then takes it back out again. “This.”

“We’ve done this a few times now, Dean. You’ll need to be more specific.”

“Fine,” Dean replies grumpily, bending to catch Sam’s bottom lip between his teeth, letting his canines elongate until they pierce the flesh and blood seeps from the wound. “Now you,” he implores, jutting his lip out. Sam swallows the sudden lump in his throat, checks Dean’s eyes for any insincerity, and, when he doesn’t find any, lets his own fangs layer over the top of his teeth and mimics him. Dean smiles then, sealing their lips in a rough, soul-melting kiss, red smears on the corners of his mouth by the time he’s done. Sam’s probably in the same condition but he has no idea.

“That’s… Mating ritual?”

“Mating ritual,” Dean parrots, licking his lips. He hooks his arms under Sam’s legs, bends him back and then slides to home base in one thrust.

The only sounds Sam can make after that are grunts, groans, whines for more, pleases and whatever else falls out of his mouth when Dean’s effectively turning his brain to mush, snake-like hips performing figure eights that have Sam’s toes curling so hard his feet start spasming.

He feels like his heart is in his throat, getting closer and closer to projecting out of his mouth if Dean doesn’t stop making him feel _every fucking inch_ of his cock on these long-ass drags that are so good but not enough in the slightest, and he doesn’t want him to speed up, but he also wants him to finish bottoming out before next Christmas.

Fuck. Sam’s body is lit with… _something_ otherworldly, pulse going wild enough to make Sam feel sick it. He ignores it, spreads his legs wider, loops his arms tighter around Dean’s neck, scrunches up his face when Dean bends him in half, hands steepled around Sam’s nape, pounding down into him with such force that the bed collapses under their weight. It doesn’t stop them. They don’t even pause, Dean grabbing his wrists and trapping them above them, bloody lips swallowing his moans as he presses down, snapping, churning, circling until Sam’s eyes roll back in his head, spit runs down the side of his mouth and he thinks his heart might have _stopped_ at some point because he’s not sure he’s even _breathing._

Dean pulls out then, and Sam barely has time to utter a completely unintelligible complaint. He’s turned onto his front, face pressed into the mattress, arm tugged and bent behind his back as Dean slots back into place, using the hold on his wrist to wrench his body down and Sam’s up into every thrust, the sound of the impact closer to a thunderclap than the usual pounding of flesh. Sam’s throat is _sore_ from crying out. He can’t moan into the sheets because he doesn't have _time_ to catch the fabric between his teeth. The violent, agonizing pace leaves him no room to do anything.

Sam feels like nothing more than fleshy a bodysuit that Dean purchased online to have his way with whenever he’s in the mood, knowing that he doesn’t have to hold back because it can’t feel. But Sam can feel. And he’s _loving_ it, insides so full he feels like they’re one thrust from exploding. His vision is full of bursts of colour, eyes tightly closed, the veins all over his body taut and screaming but he can’t tap out. He can’t because it feels too fucking good to let it end here—who gives a shit if he can see the entire _rainbow_ behind his eyelids?

Dean’s dripping sweat and blood onto his back. Sam’s muscles are tensing and relaxing. He feels boneless. He’s not even sure what day it is anymore, let alone what he was doing ten minutes ago, too swept up in the earth-shattering speed at which Dean’s pounding into him.

He doesn’t ever want it to end. But he knows that it’s going to have to.

And then he feels it… Teeth. Sharp. _Sharp_ fucking teeth breaking the skin of the nape of his neck, those hips _finally_ slowing down enough for him to draw in breath and cry out at the sensation as Dean starts slow-grinding into him, keeping his teeth embedded for five minutes, enough for the ritual to take effect. He released Sam’s arm after the first minute, moved it to his side and just held both there, chest flat over Sam’s back, cock buried to the hilt, hips doing tentative, almost adoring circles as he latches on.

When it sets in, he licks up the trail of blood, turns Sam onto his back again, kisses him softly but meaningfully. Dean hikes Sam up onto his lap, offers a cheeky smirk that holds within it something he’s not ready to say with words yet. That’s okay. Sam’s not either. But he takes the offering when Dean seats himself back inside, rocking them as he lowers his head for Sam to give a bite of his own.

Sam takes the offering, holding on for dear life as Dean nips and licks his chest all the way through it. Sam cleans him off with his tongue as well, draws back to pitch forward and connect their lips. It’s needier this time, hands roaming his back, hips, ass, legs, keeping him warm and limber, eventually crossing over the small of his back, dipping him to lick and suck, nip and mark his neck up, lips feather-soft on the side of his throat as he’s lifted up and down, accepting everything that Dean is, everything that he has to offer.

He’s accepting that it doesn’t matter that he’s an Alpha who likes taking the knot of another Alpha. Well, one Alpha in particular. His Alpha… And, holy shit, he’s _Dean’s_ Alpha, too. He’s accepting that he shouldn’t question it. Life is full of little pleasures so why the hell not, right? They’re not hurting anyone. Dean’s the only Were to ever make his skin crawl in all the good and the bad ways. He’s the only one that makes him _passionate_ about anything other than work—it’s… maybe this was meant to happen? Maybe this—

“Stop thinking,” Dean admonishes him, laughing. “We’ll have time to think and freak out later. Right now I just wanna enjoy this—you, us… whatever.”

Sam wordlessly agrees with him, arching his back when Dean pins him again, arms still looped around the base of his spine, body laid out as far as it can be so Dean can lick the sweat off his throat and tuck his head under his chin, the creases around his eyes giving way to his impending orgasm.

“Fuck… C’mon, Sammy—you gotta come first,” Dean encourages, delivering sharp, mind-bending snaps that have Sam’s balls drawing up. Or maybe it was just Dean’s suggestion that did it. “Yeah. C’mon. Come. Do it. Come for me!”

As if that’s all he needed to hear, Sam’s cock throbs eagerly between their bodies, thick white ropes of come shooting out of him, coating their skin in a fine layer that Dean snickers at.

“Interesting choice of moisturiser you’ve got there,” he says and Sam’s far too gone to tell him how awful his joke is. He focuses his efforts on the vibrations coming from Dean’s throat, the stuttered breaths leaving him, the arms tightening around his waist and the half-curse that gets lost in the sensation of Dean’s knot bulging out, locking them in place, tying them for the first time as mates.

“F-fuck… Ho-holy shit,” Dean stammers, and Sam can feel why—the _amount_ of cum being pumped into his channel with each burst is ludicrous. Dean buries his face in Sam’s neck, body twitching, shifting, squirming, breath hot and moist on his skin. Sam brings his arms up around him when he gets his bearings back, hands slick. He curls an arm around Dean’s head, bends forward to kiss his crown and strokes his back for ten minutes. He absently wonders if Dean’s legs are ever going to stop jerking randomly. “Christ… This feels fuckin’ amazin’.”

“I can tell,” Sam comments, fucked out, blissed-out, worn out but never happier. “Why don’t you rest. You’ve done all the hard work after all.”

“Yeah… That sounds like a good idea,” Dean agrees, nuzzling Sam’s neck. He kisses him softly. “You’re beautiful, by the way.”

“Hm?”

“Beautiful. For an Alpha. Just wanted to say it. Don’t go making a big deal about it.”

Sam isn’t really sure what to say for the longest time. He settles on not saying anything at all, while secretly thinking that Dean’s a pretty damn beautiful Alpha himself.

Maybe he’ll tell him in the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Penny for your thoughts? :D Leave a comment to let me know what you thought of it! Leave a kudo if you think it was worth your time and effort to get through the whole thing and come talk to me on twitter! Tell me your headcanons, ask me questions about random shit, obsess over the beauty that is J2/Wincest and everything in between. Get a probably daily dose of porn, too. XD 
> 
> https://twitter.com/TigaEasy
> 
> For those of you that wanna come and chat or follow or whatever. 
> 
> Anyway... 
> 
> Dude, how many Tuesday's did you have?
> 
> Because... It's WEDNESDAY!
> 
> Love, Kieran. <3


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